


Dead is the New Alive

by kyo_chan



Series: Dead is the New Alive [7]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist the Movie: Conqueror of Shamballa, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo_chan/pseuds/kyo_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After six years of being away from Amestris, Edward takes his one and only chance to return to his world so he can stop Eckhart and the Thule Society from the violence they're planning. Nothing could have prepared him for what was on the other side he used to call home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After a year of this laying by the wayside, I /never/ expected to really pick it back up seriously again. But it's undergone some changes and I'm really happy to be working on it again. Please refer to the prequel stories in this series that explain how Kimblee is involved. Thank you to my fiancee, Sylvyrblade; my beta, aionwatha and geth-metal on Tumblr, who may never see this, but it's going out there anyway. (PS: I SUCK at history.)

_Prologue ~ Battle of Cantigny, 1918_

They were moving out. Edward tucked the last of his supplies into the worn satchel and slung it over his good shoulder. He watched his fellow medics gather by the covered truck. It would be a few more minutes before they left. Without knowing what compelled him, he let his feet carry him towards the ruined battlefield. The trenches were empty, some sections caved in where the tanks had barreled over them. The stench of death rode the wind, sickness and blood thick on his tongue. For just that sliver of a moment, the early dawn was so silent, he could hear the whir of the motor in his shoulder, a surreal noise against the eerie backdrop. It was time to move on, more bodies to move, soldiers to reach, senseless killing to see. 

Ed pressed his palms together, but did nothing more with them. It was a distant memory to him, the spill of red water over the hillside like blood. The way the earth had moved and grown and blossomed trees in dead soil to absorb the crimson. Life out of sickness and pain. His chest ached, and the burst of an engine coming to life felt like an explosion in his heart. 

_This is hell._

~*~

_Chapter 1_

One ship. One chance.

No matter what anyone else thought, it wasn’t about ‘going home’ anymore. Home was a foreign concept to someone that had been adrift for most of his life. No, this was about stopping violent destruction from being delivered to a land of people he cared about. As his rocket launched, he stopped fighting and grasped the clutch, driving the little thing as fast as it could go towards the Gate. 

He had to stop the worst from happening.

~*~

“What the hell is this?”

The body that Colonel Zolf Kimblee dropped unceremoniously into the chair made a solid thunk, causing Roy Mustang to raise an eyebrow. Casually, the taller man procured the keys to his captive’s cuffs and was now using them to adjust his position on the chair so that he was restrained. Kimblee wrinkled his nose at unconscious man, as if he didn’t believe he’d carried such a thing to his superior officer. Blonde hair was smattered with soot and hung in a tangled tail down to the seat of the chair. Confident that his prize wouldn’t be able to get away if he woke up, Kimblee straightened and dusted off his hands. The way he crossed his arms felt defensive, the line of his shoulders tight. Few could see it, but Roy knew what to look for, and the other soldier was rattled.

“The earthquake—“he started.

“I think you’re looking at part of your answer.”

“You actually found something underground?” Roy rose up from behind his desk so that he could inspect closer.

“You could say that.” Kimblee was quiet for a moment, gaze flickering between Roy and their unexpected guest. A shadow lurked in his expression, and he licked his lips before he continued. “It was just as you said. The earthquake was a result of a portal being opened. Two… _things_ passed through, flying machines. One was the size of a tank, and with just as much artillery. If it had breached the surface…” He let that thought die unfinished. “The other was a smaller vehicle, carrying this.” He motioned towards the slumped man in the chair. “We drove it back into the Gate, and destroyed the portal on this side.”

Roy stared at Zolf in disbelief, ready to call the man on an exaggeration. Flying machine, the Gate… “You destroyed it. There could have been evidence…”

“Was that evidence worth the lives of the people here in Central?”

_“General Mustang, if Major Elric had succeeded, countless lives right here in the city of Central would have been consumed in its creation…”_

Zolf didn’t stop there, leveling a heavy gaze on Mustang without flinching. “If you would like to go back and look at what is left, by all means be my guest.” The gruesome picture would paint the words he wouldn’t say about it. “But I don’t think you wanted to deal with whatever was driving that vehicle.” Not human. It spoke volumes that he had chosen to come to Roy first before drawing up a formal report. Panic was not something Central or the top brass needed right now, not after Armstrong’s report about corpses wearing armor invading Liore.

“Fair enough,” Roy conceded. “So you brought a hostage instead.”

“I thought you might be interested in what he would have to say.” Zolf took a handful of the captive’s dirty yellow hair, lifting his head.

Roy’s breath caught in his throat, single dark eye widening. Zolf watched with curious interest while the reserved expression he was used to seeing shut down into something entirely unreadable. In the rare times it had happened in the past, the situation had not been good. For once, he was braced for it. Though Kimblee had never personally met the Fullmetal Alchemist, he had heard more than enough of the stories and had even come across some of the various pictures scattered in the files pertaining to him. He had been the one to go over them in great detail when Fullmetal’s younger brother stood trial before the Council. So when the machinery with enough weaponry to devastate a city, perhaps even an entire country, appeared with this man in tow, he had decided not to blow up everything.

Just most of it.

Sure enough, Roy’s face now told him he had been right to bring in someone that so closely resembled the Hero of the People. A quick check as he had been hauling the man in confirmed the right arm and left leg were merely prosthetics instead of flesh. Either someone was a really good imposter or Mustang’s world was about to get shaken up in a major way. Again.

“You found him.” Even Roy’s tone was indescribable, void of emotion but thick with something, as if the disbelief were tangible enough he had to talk around it. “Underneath Central.”

“Yes. Once we destroyed the portal, I brought him in through the tunnels so that you would be the first one to see him. You can decide what to do about him now.” He let the blonde’s head fall back into a loll, once more crossing his arms. “There is more. I wasn’t certain whether or not to believe what you said about the monsters, but two of them were there. Their blood set off the array that let the ships in. It’s probably in your best interest to destroy that underground nightmare, Mustang. First the Soul Theory Alchemist, then the earthquakes and now this? You’d be tempting fate by keeping it accessible much longer.”

“You’re one to talk about tempting fate, Kimblee,” Roy responded without missing a beat. But the consideration in his tone was an indication that he hadn’t completely dismissed the other man’s advice. It was very clear, however, that he was watching the blonde in the chair like a ghost come back to life, and Zolf understood why. “Maybe you should have blown this up with the rest of the things we didn’t want to let out. I’m not sure I want to find out what it really is.”

~*~

The figure in the chair stirred, fingers of one hand twitching while the other lay still like a dead weight. Only someone watching closely would have noticed the bare flicker of eyelashes and even more closely to catch the gleam of honey gold eyes opened barely a slit to assess the situation. Heartbeat loud in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of a familiar voice and words like ‘array’ and ‘alchemist” tossed so casually between two men. 

Edward stayed as relaxed as he could manage, letting his bangs hide the way his eyes tried to flicker around him, taking in his surroundings. _There_ , the leather couch he’d spent many an afternoon sprawled across with a book. _There_ , the wall of books, everything from alchemy to military warfare and history. _There_ , the familiar shade of blue with touches of gold and silver. And directly in front of him, the very familiar wood of a desk, the corner of one leg still puppy-gnawed and, for one who knew what to look for, singe marks and the signs of alchemic reconstruction like a patch job.

Even with his breath catching in his throat, Ed pushed the words out, rough and ravaged by the smoke and screams from a battle he only hazily recalled at the moment. “Hell of a welcome, Mustang.”

His voice startled both men, and the one near Mustang tensed, laying a hand on the service revolver holstered at his hip. His true weapons were hardly the firearm, remembering how he had only needed to lay his hands on the soldiers that dropped from the ship to make them explode. Alchemic force, powerful at that. He didn’t draw, however, allowing Mustang to have control. Roy stood perfectly still where he was, fists clenched at his sides for a few very silent, uneasy seconds. Then he reached a hand out, grasping Ed’s chin and lifting his face so he could see what the mangy blonde hair had been hiding.

The rough touch of the ignition cloth on his skin was as familiar as it was foreign, and Ed allowed his head to be moved, his face as unreadable as Mustang’s own. He took in the eye patch, the difference the years had made in the Flame Alchemist with far more experience in knowing what to look for. The man was tired, war weary in a way that had little to do with the front lines and much more with the maneuvering of a long siege or a grinding march. The blonde frowned slightly, voice still harsh and with a touch of reproof. “You look like hell, Mustang.”

The other soldier snorted quietly, the sound carrying a hint of bitter amusement. It was like the pot calling the kettle burnt. It dawned on Ed that he couldn’t have looked much better, covered in drying blood, dirt and things better left unidentified.

For a split-second, Mustang’s eyes brimmed with hope, but something else kicked in much faster, locking him back down to the impassive stare. He looked to be biting back a sarcastic retort that had practically been second nature once upon a time. Instead, he let out a cold, impersonal inquiry. “Who are you?”

Golden eyes narrowed, the frown thinning into a tight line as Ed’s eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t spare more than a glance toward the unfamiliar man ( _alchemist_ ) in blue, his focus on the one-eyed man in front of him. He stifled his own sarcastic rejoined that had something to do with Roy having only lost one eye instead of two, but the only sign of the suppressed jibe was the flash in his eyes. He wanted to buy in on the theory that Mustang was just screwing with him, but he knew better. This was no joke, not even barracks humor. He let out a huff of breath, leaning back as best he could and crossing his whole leg over the deteriorating one.

“Edward Elric. Fullmetal Alchemist,” he stated clearly. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

Those words did something to Mustang, an imperceptible something that Ed couldn’t place, but it was wrong and discordant. The Flame Alchemist glared down at him from his full height above him, and this time it wasn’t a game. An expectant eyebrow raised as Roy crossed his arms.

“Prove it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does someone prove he is who he says he is when no one wants to believe it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful fiancee was excellent help in this next chapter. Thank you to her and to aionwatha, my awesome beta. Thanks for reading!

The man claiming to be Edward Elric didn’t have an immediate answer. His eyes flashed, indignant, a silent “how dare you ask me to prove it”. Typical of Ed, but still not convincing enough. The blonde’s lips were set in a firm line, as if he were waiting for Roy to give him a good reason to answer. Even as the party at a clear disadvantage, he was arrogant enough to challenge the demand.

Roy stepped in close again, smelling sweat and gunpowder with the undercurrent of alchemy. He pushed back the lapels of the prisoner’s worn brown jacket, watching him cautiously while he undid the first couple buttons of the shirt underneath. “Surely, there must be something you can think of to say. A bit of information, perhaps, that wasn’t widely known to anyone.”

Finally, Roy got enough fabric out of the way to see what he was looking for. The scarring on the man’s right shoulder was an angry red closest to where the port for his automail should have been. They could have been mistaken for fresh wounds, they looked so painful. It wasn’t as Roy remembered it though. Gone was the sleek steel and pristine engineering, exchanged for something rudimentary, a kind of prosthetic he had never seen before. His nose wrinkled, doubt furrowing his brow once more. The defiance on his captive’s face hardened when Roy exposed even that much. He heard the man take a deep breath, closing sun-gold eyes as he did.

“You’d just had coffee that day. The sun was going down and we probably wouldn’t have crossed paths if I wasn’t trying to steal your car.”

Roy’s mouth went dry and his hands fell away. He stared long and hard at the blonde while memories crashed into him like they’d happened yesterday. That day, like so many that haunted him in the darkest, quietest hours of the night, was so clear in his mind. Younger golden eyes had been both determined and hesitant. When they had both justified their reasons to one another, Roy had kissed him. It had only been once, and the only one he had ever told about it had taken the secret to her grave.

Mustang felt like he should have pushed it, should have been harder to convince, but any question that he might have asked died before he could speak it. He moved to lean against his desk while he tried to sort out what it would mean if this really were Edward Elric.

“Mustang?” Kimblee said slowly, his voice level, questioning without pushing too much. He obviously didn’t like what he’d seen on Roy’s face, judging by the way his fingers and curled around the handle of the revolver.

“Say it again,” Roy murmured, ignoring the other alchemist for the moment, wanting to be sure he’d heard the words right and not mistaken them for what he might have wanted to hear instead.

“I said,” Ed spoke only slightly louder than before, all of his focus on Roy instead. “You’d just had coffee. And I tried to steal your car.” One night, the last night before the beginning of the end, all of Roy’s fire in that kiss. The least he could do for the kid who defied logic itself to do the impossible.

With his single eye closed and expending more effort than he would have liked to keep his breathing even, Roy weighed his options. What more could he stand to lose by allowing a sliver of hope back in? Kimblee could take care of himself, and the only other person this could affect was safely ensconced in a place that Roy would never allow this man to go into alone. Not until he was absolutely certain. If this Edward turned out to be a fake, it would only further cement a truth that had been in his face for years.

At last, he pushed away from the desk, circling the chair, firmly keeping his hands at his sides so that he wouldn’t touch the dirty golden hair, stroke one of the cheeks that didn’t have the roundness of youth in it anymore, investigate that strange not-automail further. “This puts me in a rather odd position, you realize,” he said casually, once more refusing to allow his voice to betray anything more than he already had. “You’ve been gone for quite some time, Fullmetal.” He paused behind the chair, reaching one hand out to Kimblee. “Give me the key.”

Disbelief and anger colored the Crimson Alchemist’s words. “Mustang, don’t be stupid. There’s no—“

“When you outrank me, Colonel Kimblee, then you can question my actions and refuse my orders all you want. I said give me the key.”

Kimblee’s lip curled back in a slight snarl, but he fished the key for the cuffs out of his pocket. He’d drawn his gun, and Roy saw no reason to tell him to put it away. The chances were still very high that he might need it.

“If he does something we don’t like, you can shoot him.” Roy found himself hoping a little too hard that the typical Elric temper didn’t cause Ed, if he was indeed Ed, to do something that would earn him a bullet in the head. He had one chance. The Flame Alchemist bent to reach the cuffs, and a moment later, the pressure holding Ed to the chair eased, accompanied by the soft jangling of metal that now dangled from Roy’s fingers.

~*~

Ed let out a soft hiss as his wrists were released from the cuffs, flexing the fingers of his left hand several times before bringing around his right. The whirr of the mechanism was loud in the quiet office, and Ed’s ears could pick out the protesting whine that indicated failure was closer than he liked to consider. The prosthetic had been worked hard, and this version was four years old already. Frankly, it was a miracle that it worked at all, and he gave a small mental nod of thanks to the memory of his father, reluctant as the praise might be.

He glanced back, then warily towards Kimblee, but he nodded in unconscious agreement to Roy’s words. Had he been dangerous to Roy, it would have been a sensible precaution. Something told him it was better not to ask where Hawkeye was, her lack of presence in this office a jarring thing now that he was finally starting to think again. He uncrossed his legs, leaning forward slightly to stretch out his spine from its forced position in the chair. “So now what?”

“That’s a good question,” Roy answered. A single dark eye once more looked Ed over, slowly taking everything in. Ed didn’t flinch at the eye patch, instead regarding Mustang with a kind of patience he’d rarely shown anything not related to alchemy. “I suppose that I have to do something with you until we get things sorted out, and I’m not particularly fond of you being out of my sight for too long. Wouldn’t want you to end up disappearing again.”

Ed snorted. “You’d think I’d be old enough not to need babysitting, but if it makes you feel better…” The wry twist of his lips was bitter as he let the words trail off, then sighed. “As long as I know my brother is alive and well, I’ve no reason to ‘disappear’ again.” Were it under better conditions, he might have thrown in something about the unlikelihood of him managing to limp off faster than they could catch him. If it had been Hawkeye at Mustang’s side, he might have revealed more of the true state of things, but Kimblee was an unknown.

“Your brother is most definitely alive, Fullmetal, so I’ll take it on your word that you’ll be sticking around for a while.” Roy was even more stone-faced, and he dropped the cuffs on his desk, the clattering of metal on wood loud in the quiet office. “I have this feeling that you’re going to need your automail mechanic. Your arm sounds like a rusty car engine.”

There was little humor in the soft, choked sound Ed made, giving his right arm a glance that flickered over his left leg as well. “You have _no_ idea, Mustang.” He shook his head, the unnamed fear that had been lying dormant in his mind for the last six years eased. It hadn’t slipped past him that Mustang didn’t say Al was doing well or good, but right now, knowing he was alive was enough. There was little Ed could do until he was in better shape and earned Mustang’s trust back. He didn’t like it, but that didn’t change the facts. “I’d also much appreciate a shower.”

Mustang glanced out the window, the sky beyond it already dark, glittering with the lights of the city beyond. “You can shower at my place.”

“What?!” Kimblee’s sputter would have been funny if his eyes weren’t brimming with anger.

“I didn’t stutter, Colonel.”

The taller, dark-haired man took a deep breath, drawing his composure back in a matter of moments. “I’m aware of that, _Sir_ ,” he snapped back with no hint of the respect due the title. “My… _inquiry_ was not because I didn’t hear you, but because I thought you might have lost your goddamn mind.”

In spite of the situation, a smirk tugged at the corner of Roy’s mouth as he turned to start putting a few files into a worn leather briefcase. He seemed to want to make a point of doing so, even if he might not actually get to the work. Going through the motions. “Maybe I have,” he agreed almost cheerfully, in a way that seemed to make his companion twitch. “But you’re just going to have to accept that I want to believe who he says he is until he proves otherwise.” Roy’s voice softened. “Look at him, Zolf. I don’t think he’s in any position to take me on as he is. I’ll be fine.”

Kimblee’s amber eyes were practically slits now, saying so much more in the hard gaze than he was allowing past his lips.

Ed watched the exchange with a remarkable amount of sympathy for Kimblee. He knew all too well what it was like to watch a friend make what seemed to be a terrible mistake, stupidly trusting because he wanted to believe. He kept quiet while they argued, slowly working himself up to standing. His spine straightened in reaction to Mustang’s line about being in no shape to harm him, but it was true enough. Of course, if it was really necessary, Ed could have managed some chaos, but it was probably not the smartest idea to make a point of it. At least while Kimblee was around. Ed really didn’t want any more bullet holes in his body.

Standing, he leaned casually against the chair to which he’d been bound, hoping that how much he was actually using it to support him wasn’t as apparent as he feared it was. He could feel the aches of his abused ports, the grinding of a brace that didn’t quite fit anymore, as well as the bruises and injuries from the last battle underground. He stifled a hiss of pain as he shifted his weight, making certain his leg would take it before he started walking.

“Sounds like you’re the one that really needs the babysitter, Mustang,” Kimblee finally huffed, tucking his pistol firmly into the holster with a scowl. He crossed his arms, looking Ed up and down with an unpleasantly distrustful expression. “Do what you want. I’m going home to take a shower myself. I’ve had a long day too. We’ll discuss this more tomorrow. If he lets you live that long.” To Ed, he narrowed his eyes, growling, “Don’t give me a reason to reduce you to pieces, _Fullmetal_. It would be such a horrible way to begin our acquaintance.” With a sweeping bow in which he never lowered his gaze, he turned and stalked out.

Roy sighed quietly, slinging his briefcase over one shoulder. “My apartment isn’t far from here. Shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't always wash away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help it, I love the portrayal of manga Kimblee so much better. Therefore, as you might have seen in the prequels, I'm keeping his history in Brotherhood as a soldier in possession of the Stone during Ishval, but he was still in prison while some other psychopath working for Greed blew up Liore.  
> My fiancee was an awesome part of helping to nail Ed in this chapter. Also, thanks to aionwatha, who waited to watch Criminal Minds so she could beta the chapter. (Seriously, this is love.)

The lights came on one by one, quickly followed by the radio that sat on a shelf in the hallway, placed so that the strains of classical music could be heard throughout most of the apartment. Zolf spared a thought for starting a pot of coffee, but there was something he wanted even more than that.

_“You weren’t the one I was expecting, but you’re still an alchemist, aren’t you?”_

He stepped into the bathroom and worked open the fastenings of the uniform jacket, tossing it to the floor. Next, he tugged the turtleneck out of his pants. That was the more uncomfortable garment, the fabric making a soft hiss as he peeled it away from his torso. He had used alchemy on his clothes to get the worst of the red stains out, but it still clung to his skin, made it incredibly uncomfortable for him to stand and watch Mustang make the biggest mistake of his life.

_It wasn’t the first time Zolf had seen the ruins under Central. Mustang had made it a point to show them to him when he’d been given the file on the Fullmetal Alchemist. The General kept watch over it, even after so many terrible things had happened there. It wasn’t the first time Zolf had seen the array either, the massive thing that was like art to him in its complexity, marked by bloodstains, but so beautiful. It was here that Alphonse Elric had been reborn…and here that Edward Elric had first disappeared._

_The monster, though? The thing with skin a sick grey and berserker eyes propelling itself from one of the ruined buildings with a shriek no normal creature could make? It was the first time he’d seen_ that _._

All of his movements were methodical, a flimsy attempt at being unhurried, but a pile of blue and black was at his feet in a matter of moments. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he didn’t like his reflection resembling the haunted look he’d seen on Mustang’s face back at office. But it had been close. Too damn close for his comfort, a test of his self-control, the likes of which he hadn’t encountered since Ishval. What he’d seen today made the war feel like a practice drill in academy. Shuddering, he reached out to turn the shower on as hot as he could stand. He took his hair down. His eyes drifted back to the mirror, watching his own wary face until the steam blurred his face to an unrecognizable state. It was better that way.

 _Zolf didn’t think that his mind could have conjured up a nightmare like this. The creature thundered around him. A mass of arms, legs, heads, and that godawful_ noise _it made. From its skin, red liquid oozed, bringing with it a smell that Zolf couldn’t have mistaken even if he tried. Stone. His stomach lurched and his mouth watered, focus blurring with the scent of blood-stained alchemy. He hit the ground hard enough to black out._

Hot water poured over him, and though he tried to resist the urge, he watched the stains pour off of him in red rivulets, pooling at the drain and lingering dark to pink to clear. And yet he still didn’t move, staring without seeing anymore.

_When he came to, he wasn’t alone with the monster. Some kid had followed him down and was doing his best to tear the thing to pieces, which should have been impossible for someone his size. But he had two automail limbs and teeth like a demon. Zolf was once more plunged back into his nightmare of creatures under the bed, all with the smell of the Philospher’s Stone in the air, the taste of it thick on his tongue. He pushed himself up, arms shaking as if they wouldn’t hold his weight. The demon landed in front of him and drove the automail fist straight into the ground, pinning himself. Zolf’s jaw dropped, but he couldn’t get a sound to come out of his mouth before the monster had the little body in its jaws. Blood spilled from the demons lips, and it smelled like Stone. Zolf thought his chest was going to close in on itself._

_“Use your alchemy,” the boy whispered, and he sounded like a lost child. “There’s something everyone wants on the other side. And I want to go home.”_

_Zolf stared wordlessly, uncomprehending._

_“Use your alchemy, and there’ll only be one monster left.”_

_Underneath him, Zolf could already feel his hands reacting to the array drawn across the floor, pulsing with life and the presence of the Stone. He couldn’t, there was no way he could go back to that place in his head, where everything was drowned out by the whispers of trapped souls. The power didn’t matter, the alchemy didn’t matter…he couldn’t…_

Zolf snapped out of his reverie and reached out, yanking the handle all the way to the end. The hot spray turned frigid in seconds, and his body jumped, his breath catching. It was over. Instead of setting off the array, he had used his own alchemy to destroy them. It had blown open the portal regardless, and just as the little demon had promised, he and the monster had disappeared. The ship had come through then, and the smaller craft that carried a man that would later claim to be Edward Elric . Without either of them knowing the other, they had both turned the ship back, sent it through with alchemic reactions that promised it would not only be destroyed when it found its way home, but would take out the Gate on that side with it.

_“There’ll only be one monster left.”_

Zolf turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He would be ready to do what Mustang couldn’t if that monster’s name was Edward.

~*~

Certain now that Ed’s prosthetic limbs caused him a great deal of discomfort, Roy apologized for the single flight of stairs, then paused outside one of the doors. Ed’s limp had become more and more pronounced as the walk went on. He dug a key out of his pocket, and from the other side of the door, he could already hear the eager puppy whine. He smiled guiltily as he turned the knob, and all it took was a little space when it opened for Black Hayate to squeeze out and bump at Roy’s ankles. He noticed Ed right away, stopping to peer up at him and sniff. His head tilted, then his tongue lolled. His yip sounded happy.

“Come on in,” Roy said quietly to Ed. “I’ll take him out for a walk while you’re in the shower.”

Pain clouded Ed’s features, lips tight and stance stiff, but he still tried to hide as much as he could. When he saw Black Hayate, he braced himself, worried that he would get knocked down. On the other hand, this particular dog here, in a place Ed knew damn well wasn’t Riza Hawkeye’s apartment, told him his gut feeling hadn’t been entirely wrong. Something had happened to Hawkeye, something big enough to put those lines around Mustang’s mouth, that dark lost look in his remaining eye. Something that meant he had a new watchdog, one that didn’t know Ed well enough to know when to back the hell off. He couldn’t blame Kimblee for his suspicion any more than he could blame Mustang for both his hope and fear that Ed wasn’t who he said he was.

He hid as much of his thoughts as he could, finally responding to the man’s statement as he entered the apartment. “Sounds like a plan, Mustang.” He leaned down carefully, using the door frame to brace himself as he held out his hand to the no-longer puppy. “Hey there, remember me, little guy?”

Hayate sniffed at his hand, then let out another bark, his tail wagging so hard it looked as if it would shake him over. A pink tongue darted out to lap at the gloved fingers. Roy watched, unable or unwilling to hide a sad smile the sight brought to his face. He let Hayate get reacquainted, trusting the animal’s instincts. He headed down the short, tight hallway to the bathroom, flipping on the light to get Ed a towel. Thinking he probably didn’t have any fresh clothes with him, he also retrieved an old sleep shirt and shorts that he hoped wouldn’t be too big. At least he’d grown into broader shoulders, seemed taller by his personality, if not by actual physical height.

“It’s all ready. Help yourself.” Roy grabbed a red leash from the table near the door. Hayate heard the jingle of the chain and immediately forgot Edward in the elation of going outside. Once the dog was tethered, he held his hand out to assist Ed in getting back to his feet. “I shouldn’t be gone long.”

Ed nodded, letting Mustang help him up, hating the fact that he might have fallen without him. “Thanks.” He hesitated only a moment when the two left, then made his way slowly to the bathroom. He noticed the clothes set out, lips twisting in that not quite smile again. He started the shower, remembering the time it had taken for the hot water to kick in back when he had a dorm. Those days seemed like another lifetime to him now. Even over the water heater, he could hear the protesting whine of the mechanism in his arm as he undressed, making a point to empty his pockets of the spare detritus that often collected there, using the comb on the sink to untangle his hair. He needed at least a prayer of getting it washed with one arm. He didn’t dare trust the faltering gears to water damage.

Ed could feel the grinding pull of the port on his shoulder as he removed the leather straps, skin well-worn under the brace, shiny and smooth with something between callus and scar tissue. It was just one more mark among many, scars and bruises collected over the years. As always, he felt more naked when he removed the arm than he did merely removing clothes, and it took him a moment to remember he could actually take his time. Mustang wasn’t going to do anything to him or take pride in his pain, and the man already knew about the false limbs. There was little he truly needed to hide from the Flame Alchemist, but lessons learned over the last few years made it hard to convince him to do more than take a quick rinse. Only the fact that the water was blessedly hot allowed him the freedom to linger just a little under the spray.

For some time, Ed simply let his thoughts flow over him, not focusing on anything other than the feel of it on his skin, the clean scents of soap and shampoo overriding the soot and blood and twisted alchemy. He wanted to wash the presence of the Gate from his body. He leaned against the wall, using it to balance in his left leg’s place, the pose well-practiced and second nature like the way he washed his hair over his shoulder. It meant he rarely managed to get all the suds out, but better suds than whatever it was that still clung to him. The heat eased his aching muscles, soothing the pain from a roar to a throb. It was with true reluctance he finally ended the shower, looking forward to clean clothes with more enthusiasm than even the idea of food.

Once he was done, Ed attended to his prosthetics, sitting down on the toilet with washcloth in hand. He wiped down the false skin that had worn thin and had started tearing at the bends of his elbow and knuckles. He worked on the port areas as best he could without any tools at hand. The last thing he wanted was to put the limbs back in place so soon, but he couldn’t be that vulnerable, not yet. It wasn’t perfect, but they would do for a bit longer, until he could get set up with new automail. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining anything to the ladies Rockbell, but Ed also wasn’t stupid enough to trust anyone else with his work. They were also family and deserved to know he was back. That went double for Alphonse, and the urgency of reaching his brother took root at the base of his spine. It was one of Ed’s first priorities the minute he and Mustang had reached an agreement on his identity.

However, if he dawdled much longer, the man was likely to come check on him, and Ed would rather not feel like a misbehaving child sulking in a corner. That would just piss him off and make him say something stupid. As it was, Ed still felt a little like a kid playing dress up, Mustang’s shirt big on his shoulders, the shorts clinging to his hips in a bid for escape. It took about as much resolve to open the bathroom door as it had taken to face down Scar, but he couldn’t put it off. The truth was waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's real and what's not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that's supported the fic so far! This chapter is currently not beta'd, as my beta is having computer issues.

“You look like hell, Mustang.” 

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Roy looked up when he heard Ed approach, Hayate sprawled on the floor next to the sofa where he sat, arranging takeout containers. Roy’s smile was lopsided, a half-hearted attempt. Even after the shower, Ed looked like he walked through hell and back. He knew all about that. “I thought you might be hungry.” 

The laugh Ed gave in response was rusty. “You thought correctly.” He flopped on the other side of the sofa, pulling his hair over his shoulder to work on the tangles. The smell of food made his stomach rumble. Nothing he’d encountered on the other side of the Gate smelled quite like Xingian cuisine. He shifted slightly, his flesh foot reaching out to ruffle Hayate’s fur, toes wriggling in the thick fluffy pelt. The dog was solid and warm and for just a single moment, Ed was hit with a burst of homesickness so strong as to make his eyes sting. Memories of Risembool and Al, Mom, the Rockbells and Den. They all rose up like a tide to swallow him whole. He composed himself by keeping his attention focused on his hair, unwilling to look at Mustang’s expression to see how much he had given away. 

If Roy noticed anything, he didn’t let it show, offering a heaping plate of food to Ed as if it was a peace offering. “Dig in.” 

Flipping his hair back over his shoulder, Ed accepted with a nod, still not meeting Roy’s gaze. He ate slowly, savoring each bite, the taste of Central-style Xingian as familiar as the feel of his hair slowly soaking through his shirt, and it was all he could do not to expect the suit of armor next to him rather than the Flame Alchemist. The other man hadn’t spoken other than those few words, and Ed was surprised it was both awkward and yet oddly comfortable in the silence between them, both of them playing the waiting game. 

Neither of them ate much at all, the actions more like reflex. Roy finally gave up the act and put his plate of half-eaten food next to Ed’s on the coffee table, clasping his hands together. “Do you need to sleep?” With how weary Edward looked and how he himself felt, Roy thought it best to offer the choice. But would the empty space between now and morning make the situation even uglier? 

“No.” Ed’s voice was firm. “We may not be able to get far in one night, but a few steps is better than going no place at all.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” Roy agreed, the rueful smile on his face never making it to his gaze. Leaning back, he breathed in slowly, then let it out in a quiet exhale, steeling himself. “My companion had every reason to be suspicious of you, as do I.” He turned his head so he could fully see Ed’s face, deciding not to hold back. This first admission, meant to be an ice breaker, would better resemble a wrecking ball. Ed’s reaction would tell him most of what he needed to know, and the rest could be worked out after that. “We buried you in Risembool four years ago.” 

The air froze in Ed’s lungs, and he stared at Mustang in disbelief. That just wasn’t possible, wasn’t right. He hadn’t even been in Amestris since that day… “You what?” That wasn’t his voice, that breathless, tight whisper. Nor was it his shaking hands dropping the comb, the soft clatter jolting him into pulling himself together, locking down. There was just no way that it could- 

_“You wouldn’t kill your mother, would you, Edward?”  
_

Ed sucked in his breath, the mocking concern of his memories reminding him that, yes, there was a way. It was possible. And that possibility scared him as much as it pissed him off. It was with a remarkable attempt at calm that he finally managed to speak. “I see. So your friend really was right to doubt your sanity.” 

The pain and disbelief Roy saw in those golden eyes was almost too much for him. He kept one of his fists clenched hard enough to feel his nails digging in reminding himself not to look away. “Yes, he was. I made all the arrangements myself, and he was there for most of them. For me to so easily accept that you’re Edward Elric must have made me look truly mad. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t already come knocking at my door just to make sure you haven’t done anything.” He kept his gaze steady. “But you’re not going to.” 

Ed dangled on a precipice of laughter and anger when he shook his head. The way his throat had closed in felt like the aftermath of a battle, thick and raw. “No, Mustang, I’m not.” Another deep breath. “He spoke of monsters, this friend of yours, and I’ll assume he meant homunculi. Each of them had different abilities, linked with the sin they supposedly represented.” He snorted, reaching up to toy with his hair, the only thing shielding him from Roy’s piercing focus. “Gluttony could and would eat anything. Lust had claws that could cut through anything. Sloth…” _‘You’re not my son!’_ “Sloth could drown you in the middle of a desert. Wrath never thought things through, acting on raw emotion. Pride stood above the rest of humankind. Greed had armor nothing could break unless it was deconstructed, and Envy.” He finally raised his head to meet that single dark eye. “Envy could take on any form. A co-worker, a friend, an enemy, a mother, a brother. A beloved wife.” 

Roy remembered Pride. It showed in the way his hand raised to his left eye, fingers brushing over the patch in a memory that was anything but fond. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, but the action was difficult. Especially with Ed’s words sinking in. _Take on any form_. “Are you saying,” he deliberately went slow so that his voice wouldn’t shake, “that this form could survive being buried alive?” 

Ed closed his eyes, his own memories vivid and painful. He nodded, voice low. “Yes, Mustang, it could. And it’s quite possible it had the best laugh it’s had in years.” He reopened his eyes, the gold bleak, expressionless. “That creature sees human beings as playthings, toys to break and toss aside. But it knows envy and the rage of others having what it itself can’t even understand. If you buried me, Mustang, if you saw my body go into the ground, then there is a very, very good chance that supposed corpse wasn’t even human. I haven’t been in Amestris for the last six years.” 

His lips twisted and a humorless laugh followed. “Of course, you have only my word to go on, but I _am_ human. My heart beats, my lungs take in breath and I bleed red. As far as I know, those creatures need no breath, have no heartbeat and bleed something that isn’t true blood, dark and thick, purple like a bruise.”  Ed stared down at his feet, left fist clenched on his knee. “Al saw ‘me’ die, didn’t he?” 

“Yes.” For the first time in years, Roy tried to remember that day. Amestrian soldiers had occupied the desert town of Liore with Major Armstrong as their commander, assisting in getting the community back on its feet. “It was all supposed to be routine. Alchemists were responsible for the destruction in Liore, so the Fuhrer appointed a State Alchemist to oversee reparations, make things right again. I was asked to go and inspect progress, and Alphonse insisted on coming with us because he knew that it was an important part of your journey. There was an outbreak.” When Mustang’s unit had arrived, the situation was anything but routine. Chaos greeted them at the border, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Liore was nearly wiped off the map. Had Ed bled purple that day? Had his blood been darker than hers? He couldn’t remember. Too much had been going on, too many shapes illuminated in ugly light and shadow from the flames. It had taken so much to get Alphonse off of the body, the blood soaking not only Ed’s clothes but Al’s uniform. That was all he could recall, those dark stains but not their true hue. His chest twisted, his theories confirmed that Ed would catch on very quickly what was going on. “He knew who you were, even though he hadn’t seen you in years. And he didn’t want to let go of you.” 

_Al_. That _thing_ had messed with his little brother. Ed’s stomach churned, jaw tense, teeth gritted so hard he had to breathe through his nose while he forced the anger back. Behind the anger was fear. Fear it had done something to his brother, had twisted something, had _hurt_ Al. Fear that it could come _back_. He took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“How did I die?” 

“You’d been shot. No one knows by whom. But you took the bullets for Al. You were bleeding out in his arms when I found him. It wasn’t until after we were cleaning up the mess that Rose came to us and explained what you were doing there in the first place.” Roy’s brow furrowed. “She told us you didn’t remember what had happened, who she was or why you were there.” 

Ed glared at him. “You believed that line of bullshit? Mustang, you should have—“ 

Roy held up his hand. “When your brother showed up in Central to take his State Certification tests, he explained to me that he didn’t remember anything after you and he had tried to bring your mother back.” More unpleasant memories were momentarily halted, replaced by the cheerfully smiling face that had been across from him, messy dark blonde hair tied back and eyes bright with eagerness. His determination was matched only by what Roy had seen on Ed’s face on his first day in the military. Al’s face hadn’t looked like that in a very long time. “When Rose said that you arrived in Liore in much the same condition, I had no reason to think she was lying. Al looked for you, said that when he found you, he’d make you tell him all the stories yourself, that he’d probably remember them then.” 

Ed wanted to smile, almost did, _knowing_ the look that must have been on Al’s face. His brother was alive, and since the armor hadn’t been mentioned, it had to have worked. His joy was tempered by loss, also knowing all those years together, traveling, talking, learning…all of that was lost to Al. Even if it meant the pain they had endured, the darkness they’d journeyed through was lost, Al also wouldn’t have remembered the bright moments either. A baby being born, a snowy afternoon with a girl and her dog, chases and arguments and discussions that ranged from the foods Al was going to have when he got his body back to the ephemeral nature of the human soul. But his brother was alive and _did_ have his body back, and that was a triumph in a battlefield of ambushes strewn with bodies. 

But there was more to the story, he could tell. More that Mustang wasn’t telling him. “What happened then?” 

A lot of it had been a blur. Mustang had known that he couldn’t let what he was seeing stop him from doing his job, or even more would be lost. He’d had to step over bodies and move forward, extinguish the fires when he was better at causing them. Now that he thought about it, so much seemed to go quiet and still once the worst of the damage had been done. When duty had been served, and Roy actually had to face the aftermath, look at it and actually _see_ it. “I stayed until it was over. We cleaned up what we could, took the dead and wounded back to HQ and kept a squad stationed in the district to make sure another conflict didn’t break out.” Roy ran a hand down his face. The days that immediately followed made Ishval feel like a walk in the rain by comparison. He took a deep breath, but his voice was thick. Trying to hide anything now was futile, and it was hard to look Ed in the face, so he focused somewhere over his shoulder instead. “Alphonse wanted you to be buried with your mother, and Miss Rockbell told him he should stay in Risembool, but he came back with me.” 

Ed snorted. “With me ‘gone’, there’s nothing left for him in Risembool. Of course he came back with you.” He let out another of those slow breaths, trying to process the whole thing. He could all too clearly see the carnage in his mind’s eye, the toll on both property and human lives. He had looked at it for so many years. His experience on the other side of the Gate told him that the cleanup had been just as horrific as the battle itself, the cries of the wounded and the smell of burning flesh. A scene he knew Mustang never wanted to see again. A scene Al hadn’t been prepared for. Ed felt sick. 

Roy nodded slowly. “I’m sorry,” he finally said after a long moment. “I feel like there was more I should have been able to do, but there were days when I wasn’t any better than he was.” The pain around Mustang was tangible for the way it hung off his words and clung to his broad shoulders. “He lost you, and I lost her.” He didn’t name the woman. 

He didn’t have to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final blow and the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the support! Your reviews and kudos mean a lot.  
> The first dialogue of this chapter was taken directly from the last episode of FMA 2003.

_Wh-what's going on? Where am I, you worm?"_

_"The Gate."_

_"So what's on the other side of it?"_

_"I don't know. For me it was a place called London, if I remember right. That's what my old man said."_

_"Old man? You mean Hohenheim of Light?"_

_"Yes."_

_"You're telling me he's still alive?" Envy approaches the Gate, trying to get it open._

_"I wouldn't do that. There's no way to know where it will lead for you."_

_"Like hell there isn't! I'll tell it exactly where to take me!" The Gate creaks open, an ominous sound that Ed knows all too well by now. Shadowy hands reach for the creature, and when he doesn't fight, they pull him in. His screams echo into the void of giggles and discordant whispers, threats of death to his father in his own voice, in Ed's voice, in the roar of something inhuman. The Gate screeches closed and Ed is alone with tears running down his face._

_Ed was already gone, pulled back to the place he had fallen in death, retrieved by his brother in a final sacrifice. He wasn't there to see the Gate spit Envy back out again, like a demon being cast out of hell for being unworthy to cross into its domain._

/

Golden eyes widened for an instant before closing in pain. Riza Hawkeye had been a woman he looked up to, one he could ask about things he couldn't bring up to his superior officer. A woman who had loved Mustang as intensely as Ed loved alchemy, her devotion shown in every quiet word to support the man and keep him in line, keep Mustang on target toward his goals, at his side every step of the way. He'd known that she had to be gone for Black Hayate to be here, for another person to be standing at Mustang's side to protect him from both the world and himself. He _knew_ , but to hear from the Flame Alchemist she was dead was difficult to bear. His pain was no match for Mustang's and he knew it, looking at the older man. "I'm sorry. I wish I had been here to help."

"So do I," Roy allowed himself to say, his smile once more rueful. He took a deep breath. "But you're here now. That has to be enough." It had to be, since Edward was sitting here with him, sharing in his pain. He had to trust his gut on this one, no matter how much Kimblee would yell at him. There was no way that a monster like the one Ed had described could impersonate him so well as to make Roy believe he understood the loss. And now that the gears were turning, he couldn't stop now. To hold anything back at this point only felt like he would be lying to Ed by omission. No matter how much they had fought, used one another, they had never truly lied. "There is more to this."

Ed nodded, echoing that deep breath with his own, trying to brace himself while still reeling. He was tired and angry, aching and grieving, but he couldn't stop Mustang from telling him. He couldn't put this off until morning; even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to rest. "Tell me."

Roy almost didn't. For the first time, he let himself actually acknowledge the condition Ed was in. He had been trying to keep a tentative distance in the off-chance he had made a mistake. Now, with old wounds open again, he felt like he was waiting to rub salt in, and he didn't want to do it. But Ed had never broken under the strain of "too much" before. He had seen and done things grown men would have pissed themselves and run away over. Once Ed knew the full weight of what he was up against, he would build himself up to face it. That much Mustang knew. "About a year ago, I found out that Alphonse had taken out all the old files and retraced your steps. I assumed that he was trying to replace what he'd lost when you couldn't tell him what he'd forgotten. But he rediscovered Marcoh's work. He was caught trying to create a Philosopher's Stone in the ruins underneath Central."

Ed felt like the air had left the room and the sudden vacuum was trying to explode his heart in his chest. He stared at Mustang in horror. "…no…" He could not have heard the man correctly, there had to be some mistake. Al wouldn't have. He _couldn't_ have…

Except that Al didn't remember, this version of his younger brother hadn't seen the horror of the Stone, didn't know what it did and was too lost in his grief to understand. Or rather, too lost to care for the answers that were right in front of him. Ed could never have forgiven him for using such an abomination, just as Ed had known that he couldn't use it for Al back during the misadventure in Lab Five.

Ed didn't realize he had wrapped his arms around himself until he felt the press of his prosthetic fingers in his upper arm, and he took in a desperate gasp of air, shaking his head to clear it. As much as they had used each other and argued over every little thing, as much as he had resented the Flame Alchemist's high-handedness toward him, the man wouldn't lie to him about _this_. He swallowed, licking his lips, afraid to ask the obvious question but knowing he _had_ to. "What happened?"

Roy felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and hold the smaller man, but he held himself in check just a little bit longer. Ed's rasping breath was torture, conjuring to mind Alphonse's voice screaming for his brother, turning the air in the room to ice. "He was arrested. Since the crisis in Liore, the Council passed a mandate that any State Alchemist caught in the creation of a Philospher's Stone is a crime punishable by imprisonment or death." He held up a hand before Ed's heart would take any more strain. "However, there wasn't anyone on that council that didn't know how close you two were, and I was able to make a plea for him. He was charged, but his penalty was to be treated in the psychiatric ward of Central's military hospital. That's where he is now, and I can take you to see him in the morning."

Al. Al was… _Al_ was… Ed shuddered again, almost regretting the food he'd eaten, but pushed the nausea back with everything he had. He wanted to cry. Wanted to break things and scream that the world was unfair and how _dare_ this happen to him, to Al, to _all_ of them. But tears and screams wouldn't change a thing, and it could have been far, far worse without Mustang's intervention. Ed really wasn't sure he could have taken the news that Al had been put to death for trying to bring him back. Again. The words backed up in his throat, only the man's pain making it possible for him to even say them. "…thank you."

It seemed absurd to be thanked for so little. Rationally, Mustang knew the alternative could have spelled a far worse fate for Alphonse and even less for Edward to return home to. He had done what he could to salvage what damage had been done, but especially now it felt (and likely always would) like it hadn't been enough. As much as he hated to admit it, those boys had become like family to him, and it didn't matter if they felt that in return. Mustang felt he owed it to them to try and keep them going, to support Al when he could only remember half of what he was fighting for. He put his faith in Edward now, even with the evidence stacked against him. "Believe me when I say that I wish I could have done more, Ed," Roy replied, reaching a hand out to put on Ed's shoulder.

"I know."

/

Things were moving around him. Ceramic clattered on a hard surface, footsteps shuffled about. The persistent _knock knock knock_ was jarring, but the shuffling soon silenced it.

"Hn. You're still alive," a monotone voice said in a gruff rumble. "I would have lost that bet."

"Good morning to you too."

"You look like shit. Did you sleep at all?"

"Maybe." The shuffling made its way past the couch and into the open dining room, which was a generous word for the apartment's small eating space.

"I should have checked up on you last night."

"I'm surprised you didn't."

"I thought it would serve you right if he tried to kill you since you invited him into your home and—" a pause "—let him wear your clothes and sleep on your couch. Mustang—"

"I think he's telling the truth."

The man, identified the previous evening as Kimblee, took a deep breath as if that were the only thing that kept him from laying Mustang out cold. "It's absolutely ludicrous. And the minute you try to convince anyone with any influence that the dead have come back to life, it's a good bet that you'll end up joining Soul Theory in the ward, and there won't be a damn thing I can do to stop it."

"This is fascinating and all, gentlemen, but you're between me and the bathroom." Ed sat up, taking heed of both his body's aches and Kimblee's itchy trigger finger. He swung his legs around and levered himself up, maintaining careful nonchalance in the face of that fierce gaze. He hated feeling vulnerable, naked even though Mustang's clothes covered most of his body. Every instinct had him on edge as he passed Kimblee, nodding to Mustang and not letting his guard drop in the slightest until on the other side of the bathroom door. Only then did he take a deep breath.

In spite of the situation, Ed had to keep looking forward and hold Mustang to the words they shared last night. He moved to the sink and splashed cold water on his face, banishing what remained of his grogginess. Outside the door, he could still hear the men talking, probably about him, but he didn't want to focus on what was being said. Instead, he thought about the day ahead. He was going to see Al today. For better or for worse, he was finally going to see his little brother in the flesh, his ultimate triumph, the promise he'd managed to keep. Whatever else happened, he would face it head-on, knowing that he had done at least that much. _Soul Theory_. That's what Kimblee had said. _Is that the name they gave you, Al?_ _Suits you_.

Ed toweled off his face and hands, bracing himself when he stepped out into the hall. He was just in time to hear the front door slam and Mustang's quiet sigh. He couldn't help feeling guilty, having unintentionally put a rift between Roy and the closest person to him. He would have to make up for that too.

"He'll get over it," Mustang said, holding out a mug of coffee to Ed when he approached.

"He's got a point about the higher-ups. They're probably going to think you're crazy."

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it." The man pointed to the table near the couch. Last night's dinner had been cleared away, and in its place sat a small, sloppy pile of folded clothing. Ed recognized it as his own from when he'd gone through the Gate. He hadn't noticed it when he got up. "I cleaned them up until we could get you something better. You should get dressed. You can't visit your brother looking like that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many broken pieces and so much to fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, many thanks to my fiancee and my beta for all they do to keep me going. Also, thank you all for the kudos!

_Roy made a point of opening the file again, even though he’d read through it at least four times prior to this meeting. The first time was the worst, this file liberally sprinkled with Hughes’s handwriting, reports signed off in cheerful script and the beginnings of a recommendation letter. His eye skimmed over words, typed and written, drifting up to the corner of the profile, where there was a picture of the soldier sitting across from him. Intelligent blue-green eyes in dark-skinned face, chocolate curls cropped short.  
_

_She hadn’t taken her eyes off of him since he’d come into the room.  
_

_“Lieutenant Vincenza Maxwell.”  
_

_She snapped to attention, hand coming up in quick salute. “Sir.”  
_

_“I understand you’ve been working Investigations since you completed Academy.”  
_

_“Yes, Sir. I began my post under General Hughes and continue to serve under Colonel Stark.”  
_

_Mustang closed the file, folding his hands on top of it so that he could give her his full attention. “You come highly recommended, especially from General Hughes, whose word I trust even now. I have a special assignment for you. It will be different from anything you’ve done thus far, requiring your time and attention. The truth is that I’m very short on people that I can trust for this task, but I trust General Hughes and the things that he’s said about you.”  
_

_“I’m flattered, Sir. What can I do?”_

_“I’m asking you to take responsibility over the care of a very important State Alchemist. His name is Alphonse Elric.”_

/

A very intense game of Go Fish was interrupted by a brisk knock at the door. Vinny sighed and excused herself from the little rolling table, laying her cards down and warning her partner not to cheat just for the fun of it. On the way to the door, she straightened her uniform and squared her shoulders. On the other side stood General Mustang. Someone else was behind him, but she couldn’t see the other person clearly. She hoped it wasn’t a doctor this time. Today was actually a good day. 

“Sir, good morning,” Vinny greeted with a salute. 

“Good morning, Lieutenant. Is Alphonse awake?” 

“He is, Sir. We’ve been playing cards since he finished breakfast.” Her brow furrowed, and she dared to ask, “Is something wrong?” 

“I hope not.” 

She didn’t find the answer very reassuring. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Al’s gaze turned to the window. Vinny slipped through the crack she’d made in the door, closing it behind her. General Mustang waved his companion closer, and the man pushed back the hood of the coat he was wearing. Blonde hair framed a painfully tired face, and bright gold eyes, like a blade reflecting the sun, were looking at her with such intense scrutiny that she squared her shoulders. 

“What I’m about to say to you is subject to strict confidentiality and your discretion. This man,” Roy broke off to indicate the blonde, “says that he is Edward Elric, Alphonse’s brother.” That earned him a glare, but the one calling himself Edward said nothing. 

Vinny’s eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously. “I thought he was dead, Sir.” 

“So did I. But I’ve been presented with some conflicting evidence and an agreement to visit his brother was part of our discussion. That is why we need the confidentiality, until we can sort this out.” 

“And my discretion?” 

“If Alphonse has any doubt or this man acts to cause harm, you have my orders to shoot him down. I would prefer that Alphonse not see a visage of his brother killed in front of him twice, so please keep it non-fatal until I can intervene. I will wait outside.” 

No reaction from the blonde. If he was bothered at the prospect of being shot in front of Al, it didn’t show. His eyes were so hard and his lips set in a firm line. He made an imposing presence, even though Vinny stood over him by almost a head. That disparity in their height didn’t seem to impress him; in fact, he looked at her like an obstacle to be overcome. She decided Mustang was giving her permission to be that obstacle, and she intended to make sure he didn’t cause Al any harm. 

“Of course, Sir.” She held her hand out to Edward. “Lieutenant Maxwell.” He took it, and the grip felt odd to her, too firm. She resisted the urge to shake out her hand when he let go of it, instead turning to open the door again. Vinny found it was the last thing that she wanted to do, afraid that it would shake the careful balance of Al’s daily survival in the stark white room where he was kept away from the things he loved most. She didn’t believe that the dead could come back to life, and why Mustang was allowing this to happen was beyond her. It was the first time in years that she had ever questioned the General’s actions. 

“Al?” 

His gaze returned to her immediately, and he offered her a guilty smile for his attention wandering. She braced herself for the worst. 

“You have a visitor.” 

/ 

The sight was physically painful, like a kick in the gut, a bittersweet sensation of victory and failure. Before him, Alphonse was whole in body, broad shouldered like their father and his face shaped like their mother’s, but with masculine lines in his jaw and brow. His dark amber eyes were alert, but hollow, and shadows lay under them from lack of restful sleep. The worst part was looking at Al’s hands. They were strong and capable, but restrained, cuffs locked around his wrists and tethered to the steel rails of the bed he was sitting on. Ed assumed he had just enough give to function, but not put his hands together. Anger boiled quietly beneath his calm assessment of the situation. He had to keep reminding himself of the alternatives, most of them worse by far. 

In his dreams, in calm moments, he often thought about what he would do if he got the chance to see his brother again. Most of them involved a loud reunion with a crushing hug so that he could try to feel all of Al against him without a trace of cold steel. Everything was different, like nothing he could have imagined. Now he hesitated, even when Al gave him his full attention. Every part of him was braced as he took steps towards the bed, his shoulders tight and ready to take the brunt of whatever reaction Al had.

“Brother?”

The incredulous whisper made Ed’s chest hurt, but he kept going until he was within arm’s reach of the bed, heart racing. “Hey, Al.” It took every ounce of will he had not to touch him, and even more than that to keep his voice steady.

Al looked him up and down, narrowing his eyes at Ed suspiciously. Despite being presumed crazy, the way he focused on his elder sibling showed a great deal of his faculties were intact, and he was employing all of them to try and decipher this puzzle given human form standing before him. He only averted his gaze once, somewhere behind Ed, and then returned to him.

“Are you mad at me?”

Ed blinked, startled. “Mad?” he echoed in disbelief. Had he not been the one to vanish? Wasn’t he ultimately the reason that Al had ended up here in the first place? If anyone should have been angry, it should have been Al. “Why would I be?”

“I knew it was wrong,” Al admitted with a shrug, still talking in hushed tones, as if he were afraid raising his voice would dispel the image of Ed before him.

Like a ghost.

“I knew trying to bring Mom back was wrong, and I still tried,” Ed managed to point out, fighting past the lump in his throat. He had to rest a hand on the rail, leaning on it more than he would have liked. “If we don’t push the limits of what we read and what we’re told, then we’re not really alchemists.”

“Why are you here? You should be in Risembool, at rest.”

Ed smiled at Al through everything that hurt. “That wasn’t me, Al. Listen, I know you don’t remember what happened after we tried to bring Mom back, but you read the files, right? You did all your research and you know about the homunculi, don’t you?”

Al nodded, still staring at Ed like an array he didn’t recognize.

“One of them can take on any shape. Its name is Envy, and it used my face, my ‘death’, to hurt you. I’ve been gone since the day you woke up in your own body again. I took a trip really far away, but I’ve come back. No more resting.”

Al’s hand came up to touch Ed, and the sudden clink of the restraints stopped the action before he could make contact. He made a desperate noise, starting to fight the hold of the cuffs.

“Al! Hey!” Ed closed the distance instantly; taking hold of his brother’s thrashing hands, holding them as firmly as he could, though the resistance against his failing prosthetic shot pain through his right side. He ignored it, leaning in close. “Shhh! Al, it’s all right. I’m right here. Don’t fight.”

Underneath his fingers, he could see the friction burns on Al’s wrists peeking out where the cuffs had strained to hold him. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to get away, to run from this nightmare. Ed clenched his teeth together, taking a few deep breaths through his nose while he pressed Al’s head against his chest. His heart thudded in his ears, and if it was that loud to him, maybe it was loud enough to get through to Al. The younger blonde’s hands finally stilled, and he lay against Ed like a dead weight.

“Does this mean we can go home now?” he asked in a whisper.

Ed was thankful Al wasn’t looking at his face. He wouldn’t be able see how tears stung his eyes, threatened to get down his face. He stubbornly refused to let them, swallowing past the lump in his throat with a great deal of difficulty. “Not yet, Al. There’s still a lot I’ve gotta do to get you out of here.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry for what I did. I just want to go home.”

“I know,” Ed murmured. How many times had he said that very same thing to himself? Watching people die, trapped in a place he didn’t know and didn’t understand. He’d lain awake for hours at a time, whether it was in the back of a medic truck or in the tiny bedroom in Munich, with the mantra running through his head. It was only safe to feel like a lost little boy in the deepest recesses of his mind. Al slumped into his arms, his voice echoing the one in Ed’s mind, breaking his heart all over again. He began to think he wouldn’t find all the pieces anymore. “But I promise I’m coming back for you. Once upon a time, I told you I would get your body back too, and I kept that promise. It’s been shit for you since then, but I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you out of here, no matter what. Just wait for me again, okay?”

Al nodded weakly, but something about the expression Ed glimpsed told him that he expected to wake up after this and find himself alone. Freeing first his left arm, he shrugged out of that sleeve, then used that hand to hold Al, while he worked the coat off his right shoulder. The groan of the motor in his arm made Al jump, and Ed met the uncertain gaze with a sheepish smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sorry, gotta fix this too. Got a lot of things to fix.” He caught his coat before it could fall to the floor, easing it around Al’s shoulders, draping him in the warmth and scent of the reliable garment. “I’ll leave this here with you so you know it’s not a dream, that I’m really here and doing what I can. I’ll come back for you.” It was painful to pull back from Al, but he knew he was being watched, knew he wouldn’t be able to do much more.

With the absence of Ed’s embrace, Al reached up as far as he could to tug the coat tighter around his taller frame, hunching into it and giving the appearance of being smaller, lost. “I’ll be waiting, brother.”

“I know you will.” Ed reached out to stroke Al’s hair, but made himself pull back before he could lose his resolve to leave. He nodded to the lieutenant, who had watched him the entire time, her hand resting on the hilt of her service pistol. It reminded him of Kimblee the night before, and he wondered how long it would take for him not to inspire that reaction in the people around him. He set his shoulders and walked resolutely towards the door. Ed paused to stare at it for a moment, tilting his head. He patted his vest, finding a stub of a pencil in one pocket and pulling it free. He began to draw a circle on the door, the components becoming an array. If a homunculus crossed the threshold, it would get quite the nasty surprise. “Al, if you see this array react, start calling for help, and you,” he said, once more looking at Maxwell, “you start firing and you get my brother the hell out of here.”

She stared back at him with suspicious blue-green eyes, and he didn’t back down. Finally, she nodded once.

“I’m coming back for you,” Ed reminded Al as he reached for the handle.

“I believe you,” he replied, the hints of a dark smile on Al’s face as he looked at his brother against the backdrop of the array he had drawn. It was like an alchemic dream catcher. If a nightmare tried to take him, it would be caught, leaving him safe until his real brother could come for him.

Ed didn’t say another word until he was back outside with Mustang. “You make sure they know,” he growled, “I left my jacket with him so that he has something of mine that's real. _No one_ is to try and take it from him. If I find out someone has, and trust me I will, there will be some serious consequences.” He inhaled slowly, turning his gaze upward, ready for the next battle. “Now, I believe I've got a lot of paperwork ahead of me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Innocent until proven guilty. Or guilty until proven innocent. Dead until proven alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone following and supporting this fic! Sorry for the delay, but RL didn’t seem to want to stop long enough for me to write with the boys.  
> Dr. Knox is the surly gentleman Mustang goes to for help in Brotherhood. Neil is the guy automail mechanic in the Briggs arc of Brotherhood. Felt like giving them some attention here

Innocent until proven guilty. Or guilty until proven innocent. Dead until proven alive. All Edward knew was that he was getting sick of being a broken record. Tired of telling the same bitterly painful story. It was only by the grace of Mustang’s house arrest claim that the Council didn’t lock him up during the interrogation process. And with the way they spoke to him, it was clear Ed was being interrogated. He was grilled on everything from his certification to his accomplishments to the disaster in Liore. He was taken back down to the ruins under Central and got to take a better look at the damage there. Handcuffed and watched as if he were a rabid dog, he listened to Kimblee’s testimony about what had taken place. It was of some comfort that the man spoke through his teeth and with frozen features just as much as Ed himself did.

The medical examination had been the worst. He didn’t want anyone to touch him, least of all some doctor in the military, but Mustang swore to Dr. Knox’s credibility. Ed went into the examination room, stripped down, trying not to shake. He sat ramrod straight as the doctor poked and prodded at him, jotted down notes, all the while carrying the scent of stale cigarettes on him. Ed knew it was more than that making him feel as though he were suffocating. He only met the man’s eyes for a few seconds when the stethoscope was pressed to his chest, and then he looked away, some non-descript place on the wall, so that he wouldn’t have to answer to his terror. He had to demonstrate the prosthetics as part of his medical examination. The leg cooperated as best it could, but once he had the arm off, he knew it wasn’t going back on. It creaked, groaned as the motor finally passed in a gritty demise. His shoulder and the right side of his chest ached. He felt like he’d been stripped even more.

He walked into his next interrogation, with the prosthetic tucked under his good arm, that hand grasping the front of his coat so that it wouldn’t fall off his empty sleeve. 

“Our operatives at Eastern Command reported that the grave marked as Edward Elric’s was empty.”

“I said it would be, didn’t I?” Ed muttered, though he did his best not to sound obnoxious about it. As exhausted and raw as he felt, it was a generous effort on his part. On the other hand, he wasn’t very happy to be right either.

The officer in charge of his case frowned and shuffled his file folder sternly, trying to look assertive even though he was out of steam. Ed could relate.

“The council will have to make its final evaluation, based on Dr. Knox’s examination findings and the testimonies they have heard. This new evidence will be included in your case. Until a final decision is reached, you are to remain under house arrest.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” The respect was but a shadow as Ed saluted with his left hand. His true appreciation lay in the fact that he was done for the day. 

The officer knew better by now not to touch him, but he got close enough to herd Ed to the door and through the winding hallways back to Mustang’s office. Ed didn’t look at Kimblee as they passed, and didn’t pay attention to his case officer as he announced their arrival to Roy. Instead, he strode in like he owned the place, tossing his useless prosthetic onto the table and dropping to the couch with a heavy whump. His head fell back, arm slung over his eyes. 

“Can we go yet?”

The door opened once more before Roy could answer, and Ed braced himself for whatever Kimblee would have to say.

“Ed?”

That timid, hopeful voice didn’t belong to Kimblee. In a flash, he dropped his arm and sat up, his head jerking towards the door. Winry stood with her suitcase clasped in front of her as if it were a shield. Tears were already streaming down her cheeks, and the guilt assaulted him like a cliffside plummet. He suddenly forgot that Roy was there, that anyone else was there. He pushed himself up and went to her, sliding his arm around her shoulders. The luggage dropped, and he had the grace not to yelp when it hit his toes. Instead, he gave her the best awkward smile he could manage and tried to press her close. “I’m home.”

“Bastard!” she sobbed into his hair, and the greeting felt good in his chest. Appropriate. 

“Winry. Good timing, as always.”

/

He was different now. She supposed they all were. It was impossible for time to go on as it had, leaving no one unchanged. It was an aching difference, one she knew wasn’t for the better. Wherever Edward had been, he had suffered. And to come back to this? She wanted to cry for him. It was clear he wouldn’t do so for himself.

Winry feared the worst when he pulled the shirt away from his body, trying not to watch it happen while she pinned her hair back and put on her gloves. He wouldn’t say much, wouldn’t engage in more than small talk until she had a look at him. It was like he was ten all over again, crippled and aching to be made whole again.

She feared the worst, and that was exactly what she got. His naked torso yielded more scars than she remembered; wordless stories about the quality of his life after his disappearance. His entire right side was a gradation of red, purple and darker things, becoming more mottled and worse the closer she got to the ports. Her precious ports were covered by an alien looking material she peeled away to get a real look at the damage. Her stomach did a sickening flip, and her eyes watered. She refused to look away; it would hurt him too much. No, she had to be strong for him. He had always done it for her, and by God, she would make it equivalent. 

“Good stuff, isn’t it?” The sarcasm dripping from his voice belied the words. He knew well what was there, even when he refused to watch her face.

“You’re my highest paying customer for a reason.”

Where his armpit would be, the burns were awful, the scars jagged and skin ruined. How had he been able to move at all? The basic port base hadn’t been altered much; whoever had worked with his limbs salvaged those so that he would still be able to move the substitute. But the fit hadn’t been as perfect as her own. There was nerve damage from the burns, she was sure of it, and that side of his body looked like something she’d find in the Curtis butcher shop. She had to swallow past the lump in her throat. 

“I hope you’ll work on an IOU. I don’t think francs are transferrable in Amestris.” He said the foreign word so fluidly, and chuckled ruefully. “I don’t really have anything anymore.”

“Liar,” she scolded him, taking a deep breath and leaning in to start working. “You have me and Al and it looks like you’ve got General Mustang too.”

He would have shrugged, but instead snorted softly. He didn’t have any of them back yet. He had to earn back the care from every last one of them and repay far more debts than he had years for. He couldn’t treat having these people back in his life as a comfort, not when the monster that had tried to destroy them still walked. It consumed his mind so much it took effort to make himself focus on anything else. The touch of Winry’s fingers on his damaged flesh brought pain, his one true companion.

Ed flicked his gaze over to her when she spent too long silent, and he felt responsible for the shimmer across her blue eyes. He didn’t need to drag her down with him, so he scrambled for something to bring her back up.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Excuse me?”

“The ring on your finger. Who gets the big brother talk where I threaten his existence?”

“You’re a little late for that. I had a lot of convincing to do after Al got ahold of him.” Winry chuckled, her pained expression shifting to something fond, even though her attention to him didn’t waver. She was so good at what she did, always had been. “His name is Neil. I met him while interning at Fort Briggs. He and his sister are automail engineers.” 

“I knew you’d would find some other gearhead to sucker into dating you.”

He didn’t see the wrench coming, but he should have expected it. His head reeled after the solid thunk, and he let out a gritty laugh. 

“Am I wrong?”

“All the time,” Winry shot back. How right she was. 

/

It was difficult not to eavesdrop. The two of them were in his home, taking up space on his couch while Winry evaluated Ed’s artificial limbs. Roy gave them the space, brewing a pot of coffee and then retreating to his study, but he left the door open so that if they spoke loud enough, he would still know what was going on. 

How bad it really was. 

Because Ed wouldn’t say so, of course. No, as always, he would go on pretending he was tougher than the circumstances. But he’d watched the man walk, try to do things with his right hand and arm, seeing those efforts met with a grimace or a flinch of his lean body. The dark circles under Ed’s eyes were getting worse as the days of questioning and examinations dragged on. A week had added years onto him, and he said nothing he didn’t have to. The times he did talk, it was a cross between his defiant teenage self and someone Roy didn’t even know anymore.  
The conversation between them softened when they started talking about Miss Rockbell’s husband. Alphonse had indeed tried to take the big brother role and scare him away, but before he knew it, he was taking a week off duty to stand up for the wedding in Risembool. She’d had a child since then, and he strained to listen feeling a lump in his throat when Ed’s voice sounded choked. Roy disregarded the coffee left out in the next room altogether and instead went to pour himself scotch. 

/

“I’ll want Neil here when we reinstall your ports,” Winry said, wrapping up the gloves in a towel and quickly stuffing them in a side pocket of her medical bag. She wasn’t sure if she was hiding their stained presence from herself or Ed anymore. Maybe both. “It’ll take a couple of days for him to get here. General Mustang told me that your case officer wants me to give a statement.” She looked up at him with a smile on her face. “I don’t know if I could actually explain why I believe you’re really here, but I do. Good thing I also have all the schematics from your ports to compare to the real thing.”

“You always did take good care of me. I need my automail and I need to get Al back.” Ed frowned, realizing just how familiar those words were to his tongue, how often his lips had shaped them. A ghost of a laugh escaped his throat. “Famous last words.”

“They won’t be your last if I have anything to say about it,” Winry said sternly. “But you’re going to need time to recover from this one. It isn’t like you just broke your automail yesterday.” She cast a glance at his shoulder. “I’m going to have to take it all out and start from scratch. Your father did the best he could, but whatever kind of motor was in that arm has done some significant damage.”

It definitely felt like he was ten all over again when those fierce golden eyes looked at her dead on, accompanied by a grin. “One year.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard not to fear the worst. It's even harder not to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, to those of you who have been waiting for this /thank you/. It's been a crazy long time with lots of RL stuff getting in the way. I'm so thrilled to be getting back into this, and I hope it was worth the wait.

Ed wanted to be there; he thought he should have been there. Mustang had gone that morning to hear the council’s final verdict, and every minute of time that lapsed made Ed sicker, his thoughts darken that much more. What would he do if they didn’t accept his testimony? What if they didn’t acknowledge the evidence? What if they didn’t believe every little thing that pointed to him being exactly who he said he was? His answer was so crystal clear it would have been terrifying if he weren’t so determined to have a backup plan.

He would run.

Mustang had taken him to Al once, and he’d visited when he could since the interrogations started. He could find his way and even one-handed, he would get his brother away from this place. Edward didn’t pace, barely moved on the couch in Mustang’s office, body in a thoughtful curve, chin on his remaining good hand, eyes cold and distant, mind working. Instead of acknowledging the time ticking away or letting fear immobilize him, he was planning. Some part of him – or most of it – must have been expecting the worst, because that was all he had room in his mind for. The inevitability, the one true outcome he could fully envision. Mustang would come back in with that fucking piteous look on his face and tell him that they’d gone through all this for nothing. They would have only minutes before they came to arrest him, if they didn’t come with the general in the first place. He would have such a small window of time to work with either way. But he would do it; he’d certainly worked with much less before. He had his route planned, the arrays forming in the back of his head. Fuck, he’d have to draw them because he didn’t have his other arm. 

That was the first time his gaze shifted, to Mustang’s desk, where the man kept his paperwork and a tin cup with pens, pencils, and  yes chalk. Once an alchemist, always an alchemist. He’d have to get past Kimblee and then Lieutenant Maxwell. Maybe if he got there in time, she wouldn’t even know the result. He would flash her a smile and pretend that he was running to tell Al the ‘good news’. He would have his brother free before it was too late to stop him, and they would run. Where? He hadn’t figured that part out yet; he would make that up as he went along. They couldn’t go back to Risembool because of Winry and Granny, and going to Rush Valley would be the next logical place to look for him since everyone in the goddamn military knew about his prosthetics needing replaced. Fuck, he’d have to find some podunk automail mechanic somewhere else, and while the idea of traveling half-crippled scared him, being imprisoned and Al remaining in that white cell under the guise of helping him scared him even more.

Ed was mapping his route out of the city when the door to the office opened. Just the sound of the latch was enough to have him on his feet, even when his leg protested the swiftness of the action. He was panting as if he were already running, heart slamming in his ribs. His gaze met Mustang’s from halfway across the room, and he couldn’t read the empty expression. Panic and the fight-or-flight in him choked off his air. Muscles tensed and he could practically gauge the steps from there to the desk for that chalk. Mustang must have seen  something because he frowned deeply. 

“Well?” Ed snapped.

Mustang’s hand moved, and something flashed towards Ed. The blond flinched, a hiss leaving through clenched teeth, but his reflexes were fast. His left hand snatched the object right out of the air, eyes darting to it like it would explode on contact.

Pocket watch.

“Welcome back, Fullmetal. Shall we go get your brother?”

A strangled noise left Ed’s throat, and his knees almost gave out. All he could do was nod.

~*~  


“So am I still under ‘house’ arrest?” Ed asked quietly, making the air quote with only one hand. 

Roy walked alongside him as they headed out of the main headquarters branch and crossed the courtyard to the medical building. “Technically, no,” he replied. “You’re a free man, remember? Reinstated with all records revised. You can go wherever you please.” His gaze flickered over to the younger alchemist for a moment before moving back up ahead of them. It hadn’t escaped his notice that anytime they went somewhere together, Ed placed himself on the side of Roy’s good eye. He wondered if that was intentional, but probably wouldn’t end up asking.

Ed’s brow furrowed, lips in a tight line. Pride was at war in lines at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. 

“When are you having your automail installed.”

“Winry’s husband is on his way down from Briggs already. In the next couple of days, I’d guess.”

“You and Al can stay with me.”

“Why?” Ed barked before he could stop himself. The sharp look of suspicion in his narrowed eyes actually stung Roy a bit. He seemed to catch himself after that, and he turned his head away abruptly. “I already owe you more than I’m worth right now. There’s nothing I could--”

“It’s not about that, Ed.” If his tone was rough, it was only because his chest felt tight. “If you want to talk about repaying debt, you helped save the country, remember? Your reputation put me on the path I’m on right now.” So much more he wanted to say, but he choked it back. “The world doesn’t operate on absolute equivalence.”

“Believe me, I  know that.”

“Then stop waiting for me to drop a price on your head for offering you something you and Al deserve. Both of your dorms were revoked long before now, his belongings are already my storage locker, and you have nowhere to go if you want to stay in Central. The inn down the block will charge you more than I will.”

Ed’s head hunched down between his shoulders. He looked so damn tired.

“Fine.” 

Maybe he added a ‘thanks’ in a strangled noise after, but it really didn’t matter.

~*~  


There was a disturbing number of guards on Al’s floor of the medical facility. Ed kept his expression blank, a difficult task for him since all he felt was a roiling disgust in his gut. His head jerked up high, and he barely gave any of them a spare glance. He was focused on one thing only. Where were all these soldiers when some monster was wearing different faces and stringing his broken brother along for all that time? What was the point of having them here now, when Ed was able to free Al legally, having followed all the right steps, danced on their puppet strings? He would have understood if he had been denied or overruled, but this was just ridiculous. 

At the door, however, was a familiar face, and Lieutenant Maxwell was the only person in blue besides Mustang Ed willingly saluted with his left hand. He stepped right up to her, and her hand went to the handle. She still looked at him suspiciously, but it didn’t seem like she’d stop him from taking Al home.

Nothing would stop him.

When he stepped into that stark white room and saw the smile on Al’s face, that was all he needed to make everything he’d gone through worth it. So very worth it. Around his younger brother’s shoulders was the coat he’d left there since the very first visit, and when Ed stepped up to him, he discovered that he had to look up. Instead of being frustrated, he laughed. It was awkward and tired, but he stared up at everything he’d fought so hard to restore. It was a bittersweet victory. Al had his body back and he was free, but Ed still had so much to make up for, so many pieces of their lives to put back together. He reached up, grasped a lapel of the coat with only one hand, taking a shuddering breath.

“You kept your promise, Brother.”

Ed’s forehead fell against Al’s chest, where he could hear the steady pulse of his brother’s heart. In moments, arms wrapped around him, and it was the first time he’d let someone so close in a long while. He had to fight to keep his breath steady. He couldn’t lose it, not here and not now, with all of those selfish, cold gazes on him. The urge to run was still a fluttering thing in his belly, trying to claw its way up his throat, but he had to believe he didn’t need to. He had to trust in something, someone, anything. He thought of where they were going, sanctuary, a fire in the hearth. 

“We’re going home, Al.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One burden lifts and one gets heavier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thank you all for your patience! Here is the next chapter full of feelings I can't handle. I'm really going to try and be more regular about updating, but there's been a job change and a move on the horizon, so no promises. To all who are sticking with this, you have my gratitude. <3

No one really said anything out loud, but everyone in attendance at Mustang's apartment kept an eye on Alphonse. His first few hours out of confinement, surrounded by soldiers until he hit the street, no one knew how he would react, whether he would be overwhelmed by everyone around him. They celebrated over containers of Xingian takeout, chatting over trivial things like the climate up at Briggs and how excited Hayate was to have so many people there, even if the attention wasn't all for him. Winry's husband had arrived while they were releasing Al, and Zolf grudgingly joined them. Ed was convinced it was mostly to run damage control if something went wrong. That guy always seemed to be expecting something to go wrong, and Ed really couldn't blame him for that. How could he, when their mindset was so similar on this matter? Not every smile was forced, but Ed was braced for bad news to come knocking on Mustang's door or for Al to react in a way that would put him in danger again.

Over the course of the evening, he learned that the latter at least wasn't so much of a concern. Al seemed to thrive on at last being around the people he cared about without being shackled to a bed. When Lieutenant Maxwell was invited to join them after her shift, he didn't have to worry about her being there to guard him and could actually enjoy her company. Ed saw his little brother's eyes more alive than the day he'd returned home, and that was the first glimmer of hope things would be all right. It didn't stop the matter of Envy still being out there somewhere, but for a night, he had to push it aside. They were safe, and tomorrow, Winry and Neil would fix his automail. His hunt could begin so he could end this, once and for all.

Fortunately, none of the guests outstayed their welcome. The two surgeons bowed out first, advising Ed not stay up too late, he was a difficult enough patient as it was. Vinny followed soon after, and finally Zolf departed, leaving the Elric brothers and Mustang alone.

“It's not over yet,” Ed commented idly as he took his hair down. Al had been offered the first shower, and he gladly took it. “But as long as we keep moving, that's going to have to be good enough.”

“Did you even give yourself a chance to enjoy the celebration?” Roy asked as he cleared the containers from his coffee table.

“Sure.”

“Edward, he's out of that place, and he's safe here, you could have at least let yourself have that much.”

_ That thing is still out there, _ his mind protested. “I know. I'm happy about it, Mustang, believe me.”

“I do believe you. You're just braced for the next battle.”

Ed felt like he should have been annoyed Roy had picked up that much, but he was too tired to protest. Maybe it was better that someone understood; he didn't feel like such a monster for not celebrating with everyone else. “Yeah, and you should be too. Now that Al and I are both here, we've made this place, and you, a target. The sooner I find Envy, the better.”

“Surely he wouldn't just--”

“He’s started wars on a whim. Surely I didn't think he'd let himself get buried alive just for the sake of Al's suffering. I can't predict the lengths he'll go to now. I just have to assume he'd do anything, and that's what makes him dangerous. He's probably counting on that. This grudge is deeper than anything I've ever known. I just want it gone so we can move on and rebuild what's left of our lives.” Ed frowned. All that wasn't supposed to come out of him.

“When he's gone, what then?”

Ed blinked. “What?”

“When you've destroyed that last homunculus, and you 'move on', what happens then?”

“I...don't know,” he answered honestly, and it was his least favorite response to give. Unfortunately, it was the one that plagued him the most. Once he did know, it was usually too late. “It's not like we can stay here forever. You've got your own shit to do.”

A long pause followed, then a quiet. “Right.”

Ed felt his stomach flip, and he hoped it was the food disagreeing with his nerves. “Anyway, I'm gonna get ready for bed. If you have some extra blankets, I'll just throw them on the floor. Al can have the couch, and I'll just--”

“Take the bed.” Roy used his commanding voice and Ed's brows knotted in a knee jerk reaction of protestation. “You're getting automail done tomorrow, and Alphonse probably hasn't slept in a non-hospital bed for longer than anyone should have to tolerate. I can handle my own couch for a night.”

Ed opened his mouth to argue, but then he just shook his head. “You're an idiot.” Letting two kids come into his life and mess everything up, only to keep coming back. Roy rode the disruptions and conflicts, then gave them sanctuary, asking so little in return. It was stupid, it wasn't equivalence. Maybe there was no such thing as perfect equivalence, but there had to be a line somewhere. Ed didn't know where that was anymore either, but he was beginning to think his debts needed to be repaid soon, and he had empty pockets.

/

Roy didn’t bother to go home and change before heading up to the medical ward after work. He bid the office a hasty good night and left, coat slung over his arm and a folder of work he probably wasn’t going to do until the dead hours of the morning in the crook of his elbow. A part of him hoped it would all be over by the time he arrived, but the moment he spotted Alphonse in one of the waiting room chairs, he knew it was futile. So, he plastered a faint smile onto his face and moved to sit in the chair next to him. Al had a book open in his lap Roy was certain he wasn’t actually reading, but sometimes staring at words on paper made it easier to pass the time. He set his coat and paperwork down on the weary side table next to his chair and settled in.

“Surprised to find you out here.” It was a weak conversation starter, but he really had expected Al to be within spitting distance of the operation and Edward himself. Perhaps the Elrics didn’t get to break all the rules. 

“This happened to me last time,” Al admitted without missing a beat. He closed the book without even marking his place, confirming Roy’s original theory. When had he gotten so good at reading those two? “She doesn’t think I can help.”

“At least we can both be here when he wakes up.”

“Wakes up?” Al squinted his eyes at Roy quizzically, and suddenly he felt like an ass. “He’s not sleeping in there, General.”

“You mean there’s no…”

“No anesthetic? Nope.” Al looked at him with a sympathetic expression because when the horror of that revelation sank in, his face probably didn’t hide a thing. “Too risky to use a local because it could dull the nerves they’re trying to fuse, and a general anesthetic leaves too much to be questioned on what he’ll actually feel, so he’s awake the whole time.”

Roy’s mouth had fallen slack, but he worked hard to get his face back under control while his stomach was churning. “I see.”

“I sat outside the whole time back in Risembool. Listened to a lot of medical talk and Ed moving around when it hurt, but he didn’t make a sound himself. When I was a kid, I thought it was pretty brave of him, but now I just think he was a stubborn asshole.”

That startled a laugh out of Roy that broke some of the tension. “That sounds about right.” 

It was strange to him, hearing Al talk about being a kid as if he still wasn’t. It still felt like last week when Al showed up on Central Command’s doorstep, walked right into his office and asked to be certified all over again. Now, he had grown into an impressive pair of shoulders that might still be bowed from the burden of his time in the psychiatric ward, of losing his older brother and gaining him back all over again. There was still something not quite right in his eyes, but it wasn’t even close to the shattered torment on that day in Liore or when he’d been arrested underground. Blessings small yet great. They had a long way to go.

“Thank you, Roy.”

The words traveled through the haze of Roy’s introspection, and he wondered how long the silence lapsed between them before Al had spoken again. He felt like years could pass in seconds lately, for all that his spirits aged and withered so mercurially lately. He turned to look at Al again, and nothing about his features gave the impression of ‘kid’ or ‘child’. His smile was small but grateful, gaze sincere. Sometimes, Roy found it difficult to pinpoint resemblances between the Elrics that weren’t physical, but the guilt and ache to make everything right was unmistakably similar. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Alphonse.”

“Yes, I do. Because you might think it’s what anyone would do, and whether or not I believe that, I just can’t take it for granted. We wouldn’t be in this moment right now without your help, If you think I don’t know I would have been executed without you, you’re wrong. If you think I assume Ed could have gotten me out of the hospital and someplace safe without you, I don’t. You need to know that I didn’t expect you to put your life and your goals on the line for me -- for  _ us _ . But you did, and you need to hear me say thank you.” 

Al’s gaze locked Roy’s in place, and the sentiment couldn’t be refused. Under the weight of it, Roy felt like his ribs were tightening and breathing became an effort. When was the last time he hadn’t waved off an expression of thanks? He was doing what he thought was best, to make everything work out by hurting as few in the process as possible. Perhaps saving people had become his crusade because he didn’t think he could save himself anymore. Maybe he pushed people forward and dragged them out of the quicksand so that if he sank, he could have some legacy within their forward momentum. It was self-sacrificing, and a part of him felt nauseous for taking such a martyristic role. But maybe after he’d lost Riza and thought he’d lost Ed, his end had felt unattainable, or at least so dangerous that by the time he made it, he would have no one there to share it with. He’d distanced himself from so many people, even his own closest soldiers, as if that would keep them safe and went home alone to not sleep and surround himself in conflicts of the nation. He hadn’t expected a simple ‘thank you’ to shake his very foundation, but quite suddenly, he felt like the child. 

“Do you want to hear it again?” Al whispered.

Roy choked silently on his own shame as he nodded. 

“Thank you, Roy.” Al’s hand closed around Roy’s and squeezed. 

Roy’s chin dropped to his chest. “You’re welcome.”

“We’re done.” 

Winry’s voice spared him anything further, and Roy’s breath came out in a shuddering huff, as he raised his eyes to her. 

“We’ve given him medication, so he might already be asleep, but you can see him now.” 

She looked tired and battle-weary, but pleased with herself. If she realized she’d just seen something raw and vulnerable, she didn’t let it show, and Roy was thankful for that. He shifted his hand to squeeze Al’s in return.

“You go.” He moved to pull free, but Al held fast.

“Come with me.”

Winry crossed her arms. “I should tell you it’s only one at a time, but you both look so pathetic right now. He’d cuss you out in a heartbeat if he thought you were both this worried about him, but if you’re lucky, he’ll already be out cold and you won’t have to hear him complain.”

Roy and Al shared an exasperatedly fond smile between them and got up to follow Winry to Ed’s room.


End file.
